When the Skies Reached Down
by Channel D
Summary: The Washington Navy Yard is hit with a severe storm, testing the strengths of everyone at NCIS in this crisis. Drama/suspense story in 7 chapters. Follow-on to Staring Down the Storm. Written for the NFA Threat Alert challenge. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**When the Skies Reached Down**

**by channelD**

_written for_: the NFA _Threat Alert_ challenge  
_rating_: K plus (violence from Nature)  
_genre_: drama  
_setting_: the Washington Navy Yard, August 2009

_author's note_: This story follows on from my fic _Staring Down the Storm, _in which Tim, Tony and Ziva recklessly went out to see a hurricane...and became trapped in the storm. It isn't quite what I'd call a sequel, but reading it will probably help you to understand several characters' reactions.

There are also in this story five original characters whom I have used in other stories: Kale McGee (Tim's father), Supervisory Special Agent (a team leader, like Gibbs) Klara Schultz, and her team, Joe Wicker, Balere LeBeouf, and Mickey Power.

- - - - -

disclaimer: I own nothing of NCIS.

- - - - -

**Prologue**

They would always remember where they had been when it happened. It would be something to tell the kids and the grandkids about, as well as the disbelieving distant relatives and new acquaintances.

_I was there. And I lived through it._ Hastening to add, usually, _Of course, not everyone made it; poor souls._

_God rest and keep their souls._

Most were at their duty stations at work. Some were outside, heading back from a late lunch. Schultz' team was heading out on a field assignment. Across the Navy Yard, new recruits toured the _USS Barry; _at the Marine compound, members of the Marine Silent Drill Team drilled (actually, it was a special, midweek performance); and just next door to NCIS, tourists flocked to a new exhibit in the Navy Museum.

Vance was in his office, his attention momentarily caught by the American flag in a flag holder in the corner of the room. It occurred to him that flags must accumulate dust, like everything else, and probably should be cleaned now and then. He wondered who cleaned flags.

Gibbs was down in the lab with Abby. He'd really only stopped by to ask for status on their current case, but it was so technical, and important, that it took her three times to explain it before he understood. He was just starting to ask her important questions about details when it happened.

His team was in the squad room, working in their area. Ducky had just wandered up to ask them something. Jimmy trailed behind him.

Thursday, August 20, 2009.

They would always remember the day that the skies struck at the Navy Yard without mercy.

- - - - -

**Chapter 1**

- - - - -

It had started pretty much like any other summer day in Washington—a city where summer ran for six months in most years, as Tony would say. It was hot, of course. And humid. Washington, DC had long ago been carved out of a swamp, and Nature was loathe to change the arrangements she had made.

The old Forge Building that housed NCIS HQ aboard the Navy Yard (building #111) had fortunately been fitted for central air-conditioning, and most of the time this was a blessing, from April through October. The air-conditioning was a little too cool for women in lightweight summer outfits, and a little too warm for men in suits, but with only a minimal amount of grumbling, they got through it. The windows in the old building still opened, if grudgingly, in places, but at this time of year they were kept closed. Cool or not, air-conditioning was better than working in a sauna.

This circumventing of Nature's design, however, made changes in the weather less apparent to those inside the walls' protection.

"Balere! Let's go!" Supervisory Special Agent Klara Schultz called from the brink of the elevator.

"Just a second," said her team member Balere LeBeouf. She stopped to pull out an umbrella from her desk drawer. "It's starting to cloud up."

Tony looked at surprise out the window. All he could see, in the southward view, was heavy, hot, blue sky. "Time for an eye exam, B?" he asked.

"To the west, Tony," she said with a grin. "Got to go—they're waiting for me." The ever-stylish agent turned and trotted for the elevator.

"A little rain would be nice," Tim said, not taking his eyes off his monitor.

"I would be happy just to have clouds," Ziva chimed in. "Anything to blot out the sun. If we have to go out in the field today—"

Tim winced. "I've replenished the sunscreen supply in the truck," he said. "None of us want to get sunburned again, believe me."

A few minutes went by, and then Intel analyst Nikki Jardine came out of the elevator. "I'm glad for the clouds," she said to no one in particular, "but I just came back from a late lunch, and the sky is freaking me out."

Tony wasn't quite able to suppress a smile. The whole world freaked out Nikki Jardine. "What's it doing—raining toads?"

Jardine only shuddered at the thought, and moved on to her workstation. Tim, though, perked up and went to the window. As the son of meteorologists, he'd grown up hearing endless discussion of skies. "Nikki," he called, what's the temperature like outside?"

"Funny you should ask, Tim. It's dropped like at least ten degrees from when I went into the food court."

"Oh, boy," Tim said, and he sounded worried.

"What is it, McGee?" Tony asked. "I know they were saying on the news this morning 'possible thunderstorms', but…"

Tim stared at the sky for a moment, irritated that he could only see to the south. That wasn't the direction he needed to be looking in, he knew. Then he ran back to his desk and began pounding at his computer keyboard, almost as if blindly, his fingers not working in synch with his mind. _Where to go? Which site? ? Local news?_

_Come on; come on…blasted slow internet…_ He cursed the TV shows that had computer programs load instantaneously. Like it ever really happened that way. _Come on…_

"Is, uh,,,is the sky supposed to look like that?" asked Jimmy, pointing up. Through the skylights they could see a very different sky now: gray with a sickening shade of green coating everything; clouds swirling as they moved. A low rumble, like a freight train, sounded.

"I don't think so, Mr. Palmer," said Ducky. "What hath God wrought?"

Outside, the winds had whipped up the trees, bending them over horribly. "My God. We're in a tornado. Another freakin' tornado!" Tony exclaimed.

Ziva froze at her desk, feeling breaths hard to come by. She hadn't forgotten the horror of being trapped outside just five weeks ago, with a tornado bearing down on them. She'd said she was all right, in the weeks afterwards. So had Tony and Tim. _We're okay._ But she knew they were _not _okay. They just hadn't wanted to go to counseling. They had been sure they could tough it out, given time.

And so they had never spoken of the nightmares, and the flinching that each of them experienced when the skies suddenly clouded over,

"McGee!!" Tony thundered. "You're the expert here. What do we do?!" When Tim hesitated, Tony repeated it, louder. _"What do we do???"_

Tim hadn't found any definitive answers on his computer. "I can't…there's no confirmation of funnel clouds…"

"_I've got visual confirmation, McGeek! I've been through tornadoes in Ohio! Now either _you _tell us what to do, or _I'll _make decisions as best as I can!!"_

Something clicked in Tim's mind then. He jumped up on top of his desk and cupped his hands to call out. _**"Attention, please! We need everyone to evacuate this room immediately! Go down the stairs to a lower floor and take refuge in an inside, windowless room, or else in a room on this floor that likewise doesn't have windows. Don't use the elevators; we may lose power. Stay calm, and don't run, but move out now."**_

Sirens sounded, and they all stopped in curiosity. None of them had ever before heard those sirens. The sirens were almost as frightening as the clouds, and the increasingly-loud rumble was.

"_Move it, people!!" _Tony bellowed. _"Now! Now! Now!"_

Tim pulled Ziva to her feet. "We've got to get out of here, Ziva. This isn't a safe place to be."

She was fighting tears. "You said…you said back out there, when it…you said that if we were inside NCIS, we would be safe…"

He didn't remember what he had said. "Chew me out later, okay? When we're in a better location?" He pulled her hand, and on wobbly feet, she started to follow.

Too late.

With an enormous bang, one of the skylight windows broke free of its moorings and flew up away from the building, only to, moments later, come crashing back down, falling against its original position and there breaking apart, throwing glass and metal onto the floor below.

Another skylight window, and then another and another followed suit, over the screams of the NCIS employees below. A few windows fell, nearly whole. One of the floor-to-ceiling windows broke, followed by another as a street sign (Sicard Street) came through it.

Almost no one had made it out of the room. Rain poured in from the windows, both on the south and the broken skylights. Wind gusted in, too, blowing over anyone who tried to stand up. People screamed in panic or in pain.

And then the lights went out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

- - - - -

"Lights…can't see…" someone gasped. Although it was just early afternoon, the gloom of the storm made the squad room very dark in the absence of electric lights. Emergency lights popped on suddenly.

"Go!" Tony ordered. "There's your lights! Make for the stairs! Any place safe!"

It was hard to hear him, though, against the roar of the wind. Stones and other small objects picked up by the wind dropped in through the missing skylights and the broken window. Those who were able simply took refuge under desks.

_My God,_ Tony thought. _Is everyone okay? Is anyone hurt?_ He felt strangely calmer than he would have expected; certainly calmer than when they had encountered a tornado on the highway. Maybe it was because here he might be able to help someone.

Then, just as suddenly as they had come on, the emergency lights went off. They couldn't have been on for more than three minutes. _I'll have a word with the Director about this!_ _When this is over…_

"Help!!" Jimmy cried. "I need help over here! It's Dr. Mallard—he's pinned and hurt!"

- - - - -

Vance had gotten up to inspect the dusty flag; an action that probably saved his life. He heard the Yard sirens go off, and half-turned in surprise only to see the window behind his desk blow in. He ducked as it flew toward him at perhaps 100 mph, but wasn't able to move fast enough to avoid it entirely. The frame smacked ferociously into his shoulder, and he fell to the ground with a moan…thereby also missing most of the flying glass shards as the window impacted on a wall.

In pain, Vance lost consciousness and didn't rouse when the lights went out.

- - - - -

Ziva crawled over to where she had heard Jimmy's voice come from, scuttling from one dimly-visible desk underside to the next. A small falling rock hit her arm, and she gave a small cry, but moved on. "Jimmy!" she said at last. "Get under this desk, now!"

"But Dr. Mallard…"

"You cannot help him if you get hurt, too!"

Reluctantly Jimmy joined her under the desk. "We have to get him free!"

"In time. I have heard that these storms do not last long. Not like hurricanes. When it has gone past, that will be the time."

Jimmy gulped. "I've never been in a tornado…never seen one, never been near one. You saw one recently, didn't you? The day of the hurricane last month?"

"Yes…" Ziva fought back the fear that was rising in her throat. _Stop that,_ she told herself. _Remember your training._ As a fighter, she was conditioned to push back memories of fears and concentrate on the current situation.

It usually worked.

Now, despite her efforts to push it to the back of her mind, all the terror of that day came rushing back at her: The throwing herself in a ditch; the only hope of safety…feeling the winds picking her up, over her struggles to stay down and her screams…Tony and McGee desperately pulling her down, adding their weight to hers…

She started crying, and couldn't stop. She lost all recognition of where she was, and who was around her.

She had met an enemy whom she couldn't fight; one seemingly determined to take a second chance on ending her life.

- - - - -

"_Palmer_!" Tony called in response to Jimmy's cry. "_Jimmy_! Where are you?!!" But the winds—winds inside the squad room!—were howling so that he wasn't sure that his voice had left his mouth.

His way of battling fear was to stay active. He would _not_ think of the tornado that bore down on the three of them when they were out on the highway—the dark clouds of the gateway to hell. McGee had implied that they'd be safe if they were in the NCIS building.

_I am so kicking McGee's butt when I find him._

Tony was under a desk at the moment. Though he yearned to get out and do something to help, this seemed to be the only thing to do at the moment. Someone cried out—he couldn't tell who it was—and as if by instinct, he crawled out from safety…only to cut his hands and knees on glass. Cautiously, he withdrew to the shelter of the desk, cursing.

- - - - -

"Tony!" Tim loped his way, and then dived under the desk with him as something heavy fell from above.

"That's not the roof caving in, is it?" Tony asked fearfully.

"I…don't think so," Tim said, though his mouth was dry at the thought. Whatever it was lay just a foot away from the edge of the desk. In the gloom they could only see that it was large and roughly rectangular; rounded at one end. Tim tapped it with his shoe. "I think it's a mailbox. Got any letters you want to mail?"

Tony was too stressed to even joke.

"I think we should—" Tim started to say, and then, improbably, his cell phone rang.

"_Tim, we're tracking a very powerful cell system that's right over SE Washington this minute. Please take cover."_

"Dad!" The irony of having meteorologists for parents. "We know. We _know!"_

"_Are you outside, Tim? I can hear the winds in your background. Get inside to a safe—"_

"Mr. McGee? Can you send help?" Tony called at the phone, but Tim elbowed him aside.

"Dad, I _am_ inside NCIS! I've got to go; I think the tornado is peeling off the roof—" The light on his cell phone dropped to no bars. The cell tower was apparently down.

"Bad timing there, Probie. Way to reassure the old man," Tony grunted.

Tim grimaced as he tried desperately to get a signal. He certainly didn't want his parents to worry. "Maybe the landlines—"

Tony held him back as Tim tried to scoot out. "You're _not_ going to get yourself killed just so you can make a phone call!!"

Saddened, Tim stayed where he was. "But we should check on the others…"

"When it's safe to do so."

- - - - -

In Abby's lab, Abby and Gibbs had been discussing evidence found on the team's current case, when the siren sounded.

"What _is_ that?!" Abby cried, putting her hands to her ears, It was loud and nearby, seemingly.

Gibbs looked puzzled. "It sounds like a civil defense warning siren. I didn't even know there was one in the area."

"You mean like, warning that Martians have landed?"

"I don't know, but—"

They'd turned toward the windows simultaneously, only to see a Dodge _Charger_ flying toward them.

Abby screamed, rooted, but Gibbs grabbed her and dashed with her out the lab exit, heading as far away from the windows as they could get. Behind them came the deafening crash of the car impacting the windows, things breaking, maybe exploding…

Gibbs pulled, and then pushed Abby as they ran. _Go! Go!_ The horrible thought came to him that even though they could probably outrun the tumult, what if a fire broke out while they were underground??

"Elevator!" Abby gasped. It was not the usual one she took to her lab; they had passed that one. This one was toward the back of the building.

"No!" Gibbs said firmly. He thought of taking them into a stairwell, if that would get them up and out. But it too could be a trap under some conditions. But, the doors were fireproof…

With some misgivings, he did take them into the next stairwell he found, and they sank onto the bottom step with relief, to catch their breath… just before the lights went out.

She leaned into his shoulder, grateful for his arm around her. "Gibbs, what's going on??!"

"I don't know, Abbs."

The emergency lights came on. She got up and started up the stairs, but he pulled her back down. "Wait. We're safe here, at least for the moment."

"But, Gibbs; there could be a fire down here…"

"And it'll take us less than a minute to get upstairs if we need to. The fact that the power went out indicates a serious problem in the building; maybe in the neighborhood. That there was a siren—"

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Do you think there was an attack? A bomb? _The_ bomb? Is this World War III?"

For a long moment he just held her, and then he said, "No, I don't think so. No radiation alarms went off. We'd have heard them."

She knew he wouldn't lie to her, so she was a little mollified. "Well, they wouldn't have sounded _after_ the power went off, but, you're right. At least we have the emergency lights…Do you know how long they're good for?"

"Fifteen, twenty minutes, should be."

"And then we'll be in total darkness. Gibbs, I don't want to be down here in total darkness."

"We seem to be safe here, Abbs."

She hopped up and went to the door. Try as she might, though, she couldn't open it. "It's stuck! We're trapped!!"

Gibbs added his weight to the door, and they were able to push it open a little. A strange sound met their ears; a great roaring. Carefully Gibbs felt the outside of the door, "It's not hot," he said. "No fire."

"Then what…"

"Wind. It must be a huge storm."

"A tornado!" she gasped. "That would explain the siren!"

"A tornado, here?" Gibbs was doubtful, though he couldn't think of a better explanation. "Well, if that's so, we need to stay away from any windows. Getting upstairs may not be the best course of action."

"But we'll have _light_, Gibbs! There'll be enough ambient light to see by. And surely this building is strong enough to withstand a tornado!"

Nodding, if not in total agreement, Gibbs got up and they climbed the stairs. "This should take us out to the back of the ground floor," he remarked. When they got to the door, however, it was nearly impossible to open.

"Door to the outside at the end of the hall there," Gibbs sighed. "Winds must have broken it; winds may be racing through the floor now."

"Racing…! Gibbs, there are people _working_ there!! They could be…"

His thoughts were the same, and he swallowed. "Up one floor. There's no windows where this opens up there."

It was a longer climb to the second floor; the squad room level, but they made it just as the emergency lights went out. The door pushed open with only minor resistance. "Let's go to the squad room," Abby said, turning what she thought was the right way.

"No, Abbs! We need to stay away from windows. Soon. We'll see what's going on soon."

"Gibbs!" A woman stumbled down the corridor. "We need help…"

He caught her as she fell. In his arms, she died.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

- - - - -

_Meanwhile, outside…_

On the USS _Barry_, where Navy recruits and a few tourists were taking the self-guided tour, one seaman suddenly looked up as a cool breeze hit her. She was from tornado country, and knew them on sight. "Get below! Get below!" she screamed. A glance at where she was looking sent people scrambling.

All but two, who stood as fascinated as if seeing an amusement park attraction. They pulled out their cameras and started snapping pictures.

- - - - -

On the Marine courtyard, the performing soldiers of evenly-matched heights broke ranks and ran for the safety of the buildings. They had been trained to react fast.

- - - - -

The van carrying Supervisory Special Agent Schultz and her team had just pulled out of the NCIS parking lot when Balere spotted the clouds. "Joe! Take us back in! Take us back in!"

"Lord a'mercy," Joe Wicker muttered. "Hang on!"

Try as he might, the van could not be steered. The winds buffeting it were too strong. "What's our best course of action?" Klara Schultz bellowed. "Joe, you're from tornado country…"

"We've gotta get out of the van," Joe said. "If this is a strong enough twister, an F3 or more, it'll pick the van up."

"I don't want to visit Wizard-of-Oz-land," said Mickey Power, the fourth member of the team as the van rocked and threatened to tip over.

"No, not yet!" Joe instructed as Balere reached to open her door. "Wait for it…wait…" He continued to try to steer the barely-moving vehicle, though it felt like the steering wheel might break off in his hands.

The others cried out as the van did seem to raise a little…but then it smashed into the garage wall, sideways, and dropped.

"_Now!"_ Joe commanded. "Out! Out!"

They all exited from the opposite side of the van, and, holding hands and fighting the winds (fortunately slightly less at the moment), they ran into the garage, into a stairwell, and hid there, shaking. The winds whistled through the garage, and the team could hear crashes of…something.

"Are those people in trouble?" Balere wondered. "We should do something to help."

"Too risky," said Schultz. "Do you agree, Joe?"

Her senior agent nodded. "It's probably the wind pushing empty cars around."

"We should go up into the building," said Mickey. "I don't panic, much, but this is doing a number on me."

Again Schultz looked to Joe. She trusted his experience and good sense. He shrugged. "It's an old, well-built, brick building. I would doubt it would be toppled by an F3."

"What if it's an F5?" Mickey insisted. "I'm from Chicago, remember. I haven't seen as many tornados as you have, but I've seen my share. An F5 can lift brick houses up."

"This isn't a house. It's a much larger building," Joe replied. "Besides, the odds of this being an F5—here in Washington—are staggering."

"It only takes one F5 to smash those odds, Joe."

The older agent turned to face him; angry for once. "What do you want me to say, Mickey? That the worst imaginable scenario is going on out there? Well, I won't say that, because I don't _know_ that."

"I just want us to take necessary precautions!" Mickey snapped back.

"Guys, guys," Schultz said wearily. "_Both_ of you know lots more about tornadoes than I know, _or care to know._"

Balere took Joe's hand. "Calm my nerves, baby. Remind me of the difference between an F3 and an F5, because to me, they sound like camera settings."

Joe put his other hand atop hers. "The Fujita scale is how tornadoes are ranked in terms of intensity. An F0 has the lowest speed winds, from 40-72 miles per hour. It goes up from there. An F3 is…let me think…158-206 mph—"

"Good heavens!"

"—and an F5 is mostly theoretical, but believed to be 261-310—"

"318," said Mickey.

"318 mph, then."

"I didn't know winds could get that strong!"

"There's also a classification for F6…but the damage from it would be so immense that the winds would only be guessed at. Fortunately, it's also exceedingly unlikely to happen."

"Here in Washington."

"Anywhere."

"But, it's possible."

"But not here; not today."

"You don't think that's a big, hulking tornado out there?"

" 'Big' is a relative term. Compared to a tornado, we're all puny."

The lights went out. "First casualty in any battle: the electricity," Mickey grumbled. The emergency lights kicked on. "Well, Klara? Do we go up, or do we stay here? Make the call."

"We're going up," said Klara. "_We're_ in good shape; I'm concerned about what's going on inside. This building has so many windows…"

"Is it okay to admit that one is scared?" asked Balere.

"Any time, hon," said Mickey, putting an arm around her.

"Then don't be shy about saying it, Mickey," she said batting her eyes at him, while Joe and Schultz laughed.

The winds picked up. They were so strong that their deathly howls reverberated in the stairwell. The team quieted, awestruck. And then the emergency lights went out.

"We said we were going up," said Schultz, pulling a flashlight out of her purse. "Let's go up."

- - - - -

Halfway across the country, Kale McGee stood before his office computers, typing at one or the other with his left hand while his right hand threatened to squeeze the life out of his phone. Under normal circumstances, being transferred from one department to another over the phone was annoying enough; when you feared for your son's life, it was nerve-wracking. "Yes, I'll hold. Thank you…"

In the minutes since losing phone contact with Tim, Kale had worked harder than he ever could to get information. He called the few professional contacts he had with the National Weather Service in the Washington area…only to find them too busy to talk. Understandable, perhaps, given the rarity of a sizeable tornado in the area.

_Type. Type. There must be some news online…_ Even though he had clearance to get into most NWS departments, he still wasn't getting a lot of information. He knew it would take time, but he…well, Tim…didn't _have_ time.

_Not even decent speculation as to the category of the storm!_

On _ZNN_ TV, in the corner of the office, breaking news was just starting to cover the Washington tornado, with little substance so far. Stupidly, a minute of air time was given to a kook who declared that the storm was God's vengeance on Congress for…some stand-or-other.

"Hello! Yes…Fred Halliwell? This is Kale McGee of the Fargo…yes; thank you. It's a pleasure to talk to you, too." The problem with being renowned in the Weather Service community. _Get on with it!_ "Fred, you're in the Baltiwash office. What can you tell me about that cell that's over southeast DC?"

"_Spotter reports are coming in of severe, maybe even catastrophic damage. It's too early to know much, but this storm's headed for the area record books; that's for sure. Why the interest?"_

Kale hesitated, suddenly feeling a little foolish for pursuing a personal goal. But, he already had a foot in, so… "My son works in the Navy Yard, with NCIS. That's the Naval Crim—"

"_I know NCIS. Good group."_

"—and I was just on the phone with him, and he said that the roof was being torn off, and then the line went dead." Kale swallowed. "I shouldn't bother you with…"

There was silence on Halliwell's end. Finally he said, _"I'd probably do the same if that happened to one of my boys. Give me your number there, Kale, and I'll call you as soon as I have anything."_

When Kale hung up and stared again at the anchorperson on ZNN, his thoughts went to his wife. _I wish Cleo was here…I need her now…_ He wouldn't call her, not without concrete news. That would worry her. She wasn't even home now; she was off in South Dakota inspecting damage from a mesocyclone. Her professional interests were narrow; she didn't pay much attention to tornadoes that spawned outside the Plains and Midwest. Washington was totally off her radar.

Again, Kale turned to the internet, looking for news. Something, _Anything..._

- - - - -

In the squad room, Nikki Jardine huddled under the table that had fallen on top of her, and which had protected her from debris. It was dark; too dark to see far, and the winds were making incredible sounds.

Strangely, she did not feel afraid. She knew what other people said about her, but never let that bother her. In her mind, she just took sensible precautions against the dangers of the world (of which there were many). She was well-educated and, having weighed the risks, was rarely afraid in any situation.

_Tornadoes._ She had lived most of her life in Virginia and had encountered a few tornado watches, but had never seen an actual tornado. Nonetheless, she knew a fair amount about them…and practically every other hazard of weather imaginable. The tornado would pass over, and then…

The winds started to lessen. Nikki saw a coworker leave the shelter from under his desk, and she called out to him. "Rene! Get back! It's not safe yet!"

He turned at the sound of her voice. "Nikki? It's a tornado; not a hurricane. It's over."

"Yes, but, it's often followed by—"

Her coworker yelped and dived for cover as he was assaulted from above. Several other voices cried in pain or despair as hail, the size of golf balls, poured in from the missing skylights, drumming fiercely on all available surfaces. _This won't last long…this won't last long…_ she thought, and calmed herself again that way.

- - - - -

At Tim's and Tony's corner, the two agents were shaking. "Tell me that nothing bigger than that mail box has dropped in here," Tony begged.

"I can't see far enough to tell," Tim admitted, his own voice quavering. They had heard several load _bangs_ that they hadn't been able to identify. Tim cursed himself, silently, for not doing more to get people to cover before disaster struck. And now he wanted nothing more than to reach his parents by phone and have them tell him it was going to be all right.

Because he was pretty sure it wasn't.

"Man, of all the ways I've visualized myself dying," said Tony, "this wasn't even in my top 40."

"I can guess that number 1 was in bed," Tim laughed bitterly. "What was number 40?"

Tony thought. "Being killed by the abominable snowman, I guess. You?"

"I don't have a list. I—" He broke off with a curse as the hail started, and one of the hailstones bounced and whacked his knee. "At least the storm may be over…"

"Unless another tornado follows it," said Tony. He was crying.

- - - - -

_To be continued..._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

- - - - -

Carefully, Gibbs set down the dead woman, while trying to tune out Abby's keening. For all her interest in gothdom and forensic science, face-to-face death still freaked Abby out. "Lynn Carpentier," he said her name softly. "A good person; a hard worker."

"You're…we're not going to just leave her here, like, like, that, are we?" Abby asked, wide-eyed.

"There's nothing more we can do for her at the moment, Abbs. There may be others, still alive, who are in need of help." He shouldn't have to say this to her. Or anyone. It was hard to keep from snapping at her.

Abby stood, blinking tears back furiously. "All…all right, Gibbs. Tell me what to do."

He took her arms. "I want you to stay safe. If I can find some place safe to put you, that's what I'll do."

"Don't treat me like a child, Gibbs! I'm not in need of protection. We're not fighting lawbreakers here, and I don't have to be an agent to be useful!!"

"Okay. But we're likely to find other people who have been injured, so you'll need to stay calm."

She took a deep breath. "I can keep from freaking out if I try hard enough."

"Good. That's what I need you to do."

"What do we do first?"

He stopped and listened, motioning her to silence as well. At last he said, "We wait. Until the tornado, if that's what this is, passes by, we can't get to the squad room."

"Why not?? … Oh, the _windows_…" She swallowed. "All those people working there. Your _team_, Gibbs!!"

"They'll be fine, Abbs."

"Yes, of course. They're the best," she said, pausing to wipe her eyes. "This will all be over soon, and we'll laugh at how worried we were."

After a minute of silence, they sank down to the floor, their backs against a wall, to wait out the storm. "Gibbs," Abby said suddenly. "Tony, McGee and Ziva…they never went through their possible-PTSD counseling, like they should have done."

He'd realized that. "They said they didn't need it," he replied. "We couldn't force it on them; they weren't showing any symptoms…"

"They needed it. I could tell," Abby said with a vigorous nod. "I couldn't make them go to counseling, either. I hope they're holding together…"

"As you said, they're the best," said Gibbs. They lapsed back into silence.

- - - - -

Ziva hadn't stopped crying until a minute or so after the hail started. Then she started giggling, irrationally. _Why is G-d dropping golf balls on us?_ The tornado that had come on the heels of the hurricane had not had hail, so she didn't recognize them for what they were right away.

"Hail," Jimmy announced, as if reading her mind. "Stay under cover here; those could hurt a lot if they hit you." Then, seeing her flinch at his words, he tentatively reached out and touched her shoulder. She didn't draw away. "It should be over soon," he said.

"And then what happens?" she said, fearfully.

"Then…we get up and inspect the damage. It's only 3 o'clock; the sun will probably come back out."

"Are you Little Orphan Annie?!" she said bitterly. "Look at this destruction! The squad room is in ruins!"

"Yes, but we're still alive."

She trembled. "You are right. We did not die. Yet." Her mind suddenly went to pictures she had seen of the destructive powers of tornadoes. "Yet the walls could still collapse on us, could they not?"

"It's…always possible, I guess. But I don't think that's likely. I think the hail comes at the back end of the tornado. We're past most of the danger from the winds."

"Then when the hail stops…"

"We get up, help people, do what needs to be done."

"Ducky! You said he was—"

"Pinned under a filing cabinet. I managed to pull a table over him to protect him from falling debris before I, uh, joined you under here."

She smiled a little then, warmed in the glow of his altruism. "Good work, Jimmy." A pause, then, "I apologize for my…distress. It was unprofessional."

He raised his eyebrows. "What; do you think this is something that happens every day? I've never been anywhere near a storm like this. I'm just holding together because I know that Doctor Mallard needs me. And I'm itching to get back out there and help him."

"You are right, Jimmy," Ziva said softly. "They all need us. Later, we can deal with our fears." They listened as the hammering of hail gradually lessened to a trickle.

- - - - -

In an interior hallway on the second floor, Schultz' team was safe from the winds and the hail…but the sound of the destruction carried to them, and that was nerve-shattering. "There are people down there," Balere, near tears, jerked her head toward the sounds. "People in danger."

"They may have had enough notice to get to cover," said Schultz. "Joe?"

The former South Dakotan had been straining to hear. "Hail," he said. "The tornado itself has probably passed. I'm going to go reconnoiter."

"I'll go with you," added his teammate, Mickey. "Want to lay a bet on the size of the hail? Five bucks says it's no bigger than a dime."

"You're on."

"Call us when you have news," said Schultz.

Mickey looked at his cell phone. "No bars, Klara."

"Then we're not separating. We'll all check out the hail."

- - - - -

But after the hail came the booms and flashes of a thunderstorm, with heavy rain. "If this is a CIA plot…" Mickey mumbled.

"The CIA doesn't hate us _that_ much," Schultz chided. "I think." But she led her group through the hall, swinging one of the only two flashlights in their possession. The building was dreadfully dark, and, aside from the thunderstorm noise, too quiet for a weekday afternoon.

"I wonder what's going on elsewhere?" Balere remarked. "We can't be so unlucky as to be the hardest-hit…can we? And Mickey, baby, no more CIA conspiracy theories, okay?"

"It's not a conspiracy theory if it's true," Mickey grumbled.

The squad room was a dark expanse. Schultz and her team caught their breath as seeing the destruction: Light fixtures fallen or dangling from the ceiling; tree limbs and other unfamiliar shapes; windows broken; some office furniture overturned. _"Hello!!"_ Schultz called. _"Is anybody in here??"_

Several voices answered her. "Okay!" she called back. "If you're injured, call out and we'll come to you. If you're not injured, I think it's safe enough now that you can come out of your…wherever you are, and get out of this room."

"Klara, do you think the roof is going to collapse on us?" someone called, with a whimper.

"What do I look like; a structural engineer?" she snapped back in typical Schultz fashion, which she knew was expected of her and would be reassuring. Nonetheless, she swung her flashlight toward the ceiling…or where most of the ceiling had been…and stifled a sigh. Yes, they probably shouldn't dawdle; just in case. "You'll be okay, Hopkins. But there are better places to be right now than here, so get a move on."

"I don't want to come out," Tony whispered to Tim. "It's raining. Raining inside the squad room. It's not supposed to rain inside the frickin' building!!"

"Maybe it'll save on cleaning the carpet," Tim answered.

"You going out?"

"You?"

Tony sighed. "We're the number one MCRT team, and I'm the senior agent. We can't let Schultz' team show us up."

"They didn't face a hurricane and a tornado, just last month, like we did."

"Yeah, because they're smarter than we are."

"Tony?"

"What?"

"When we're out of here…if we get out of here okay…I want to go to the PTSD counseling sessions."

Tony grimaced. "Might as well book me a slot with you."

Booted feet appeared before them, crunching on the hail, and then Joe Wicker bent his long body down. "You fellows okay? Hurt at all? No? Need a hand up?"

"It's, uh, raining. In the squad room," Tony babbled. "I don't like getting rained on."

"It'll stop soon enough," said Joe. He pulled Tony out from under the desk, and then Tim. "We need your assistance. Bet we got some folks hurt here. Need to get them out and to safety. Can you do that?"

"Sure," said Tony, straightening his tie, even though a stream of rain was running down it. "I've got a flashlight in my desk." Given a task, he was able to push aside his own worries.

"And I'll get mine out, too," said Tim, and then froze. "Joe, how's the rest of the building? I'd think the Director would be down here now…and Gibbs was…" Where _was_ Gibbs? He couldn't remember.

"Did he go out for coffee?" Tony frowned. "No, wait; last I knew he was going to see Abby in her lab."

"All those windows! Tony, we should check on them."

Joe held them both back. "We need your physical strength up here, where we know there's heavy damage. Klara or Balere can go check the lab."

So they fanned out, with flashlights. Tony encountered Ziva and Jimmy under a desk that was not Ziva's, and silently felt a bit of shame for not having worried about her. It was so easy to think that Ziva could always take care of herself, no matter what.

"Tony!" she cried out, and the tears flowed. "You are unharmed? And McGee, as well?"

"He's fine. Took a hailstone to the knee, but I think he'll pull through."

"A hail…is that like a gallst—"

"More public, but less painful. Come on out. Schultz' team is here; we're getting everyone out of this soggy dump."

Lighting overhead lit up the room, and thunder smashed their ears. "It is raining," she said, still tearful. "I have never worked in an office in which it was raining."

He crouched down beside her. "You're from an arid country. You like the rain. It means you no harm," he said, gently, and offered her his hand.

"Yes. I—I like the rain," she said haltingly. Taking his hand, she stepped out of her little shelter, followed by Jimmy.

Jimmy's mind sprang back to his original mission. "Tony—Dr. Mallard. He's pinned—"

"Where?!" Tony demanded, and then called out, "McGee! We need you!" Then to Jimmy, "Where is Ducky?"

It was hard to remember precisely. They had all been near Gibbs' team's area when the tornado hit, but the room was dark now in the gloom, and the chaos of debris made it hard to tell. "Over here, I think," said Jimmy finally.

He was right. There was the small table Jimmy had put over his mentor, to shield him from the storm's fury. "Doctor Mallard? Doctor Mallard!"

Tim pulled the table off. Ducky was certainly pinned; a tall filing cabinet covered him from toes to chest. "Any reason why we shouldn't lift this off, Palmer?" Tony asked.

Jimmy quaked, as he always did when someone (other than Ducky) asked him a medical question. He felt like he was being tested. "I—no; it should be all right. It would be nice if an ambulance was right here now, but…can you call for an ambulance now?"

"Cell tower is down. I don't want to try the landlines; with all this water, one could get an electrical shock," said Tim. "I can find a phone in a dry room in a bit; see if it's working. Let's see how urgent things are, first."

Ducky swirled back to consciousness. "Ah, there you are Mr. Palmer. Are you all right, lad?"

"Yes, Doctor; I'm fine."

"Good. Good. I worried about you, my boy."

Jimmy blinked and smiled. "We're going to lift this cabinet off you, Doctor."

"Good, lad. I think I've broken a rib or two. Hope it's nothing more inconvenient than that."

"I'm…sure it won't be, Doctor."

"I don't imagine that, even with the filing cabinet off me, I shall be of much use here. Jimmy, lad, until medical help arrives, you must…"

"Don't say it, Doctor. Please," Jimmy said in a low tone. "There are laws…"

"There are laws, and there is the practical side of life. If we are supremely lucky, then no one in NCIS is worse off than I. I would not count on that being the case, however. Mister Palmer, all that I am asking is that…you do the right thing."

"But how…"

"You'll know it when you come across it."

"Enough talk. Let's get this cabinet up," Tony commanded. "On three…" At his countdown, the three men lifted the heavy cabinet off Ducky, while Ziva pulled Ducky out.

Ducky groaned, and fell unconscious. "I shall try to find a working telephone," said Ziva, and dashed out.

- - - - -

"DiNozzo…McGee…Wicker!" The woman waved to them, from not too far away in the gloom, and then scrambled over to them.

They almost didn't recognize Nikki Jardine without her face mask. An elastic tie from it dangled from one ear, but the mask itself was gone. "Need your help," she said briskly. "Got people over on the other side of the room; some hurt, some I think are dead."

She was surprisingly matter-of-fact about it. When the men didn't react right away, she grabbed Joe's arm. "Well, come _on!_ I can't do this all by myself!"

They followed her, then, although they did stop to check under every desk and other shelter for refugees. Mickey and Shultz were already at work, coaxing frightened people out and assessing them.

"I heard you talk about Gibbs and Abby," said Schultz by way of greeting. "I gave Balere my flashlight and sent "her down to check on them. If she's not back in 20, we go check on _her."_

"I can't imagine that any part of the building would get hit worse than the squad room," Tim said.

"Yes, Probie. It's because the NSA hates us," said Tony.

"The CIA," Mickey corrected.

Schultz pulled off some not-so-heavy rubble. "Oh, my stars," she said. There were four bodies, huddled together.

- - - - -

Balere, meanwhile, took the front stairs down to the basement level; the level of Abby's lab. Stepping off the bottom stair, her boot went into a couple inches of water. Immediately she withdrew it, fearing electrical shock. "Gibbs??" she called. "Abby?? Are you down here?" No answer. She swept the room with her flashlight, and could just make out the windows…and what looked like a _car_ dangling through the window.

Praying that Gibbs and Abby had made it out of the lab safely, Balere scrambled back up the stairs, only to be met by armed soldiers on the first floor. "Stay where you are!" one snapped.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**- - - - -**

"Marines!" Balere exclaimed, staring at the soldiers who stood between her and the front door. "What are you doing here?!"

"Coming to see if you all needed help, ma'am," said the ranking officer, a sergeant. _Stratton_ read his name tag."We've fanned out across the Yard. Your building looks like it's taken a bad hit."

"Yes, we have a lot of people hurt…some dead, I think I heard. Our squad room on the second floor—the windows are blown in, and the skylights, too…"

"We'll send help up right away. Gregorvich, Jones, Vasquez, Kiley—take the second floor. I'm afraid your two security guards at this entrance are dead."

"Oh, no…" That was painful news. "They were so sweet…retirees…"

"You'd better sit down before you fall down, ma'am. It's a nasty shock, I'm sure."

"No…I'm all right." _Get a grip, B. You're a special agent._ "I…just don't know what to do in a situation like this."

The sergeant grimaced. "If that was indeed a tornado, it's a once-in-a-blue-moon thing for this city. It's not something most people here prepare for. There's no crime to solve, no one to arrest…but you can do a rescue operation. Surely you're trained for that." _More than I am,_ his eyes asked, hoping.

"Yes…yes, somewhat." Basic first aid. And a little more. "We'll need ambulances, surely. Can you get them?"

He frowned. "No working phones. Even the landlines are kaput—well, the lines exist, but you get that 'all circuits are busy; please try again later' recording. Everyone and his uncle must be trying to call out."

"Then what do you do in a situation like this, when there are no phones?"

"There are no instructions for a situation like this, as far as we can tell," the sergeant said, lowering his head. "Guess we just have to do the best we can."

Something in that made Balere straighten up. "You can find your way upstairs okay. Tell Schultz or Gibbs or whoever's in charge up there that I'm going to go find help."

"Yes, ma'am. Be careful, ma'am. Probably power lines down out there." With a slight nod, the sergeant sent his people up the steep staircase, while he and another Marine went down the hallway. Balere stepped around the broken glass and tried to avoid looking at the two dead guards as she went out through the now glassless doors.

Rain was still beating down, but the thunderstorm itself seemed to be lessening. Balere drew her swoop cap tight over her head. The devastation was almost beyond description. Trees were down everywhere. Cars—hopefully, parked, unoccupied ones—rested at odd angles, on their sides or upside down; everywhere but on the roads. Limbs shredded from trees, uprooted bushes, a chain link fence half torn from its moorings…street signs likewise. Bricks, glass, strange metal that must have come off of roofs. A POW flag and shreds of a flagpole—those must have come off the NCIS building. A street sign driven into the trunk of a tree. It was hard moving around all of this, all while watching carefully for signs of downed power lines, but Balere did it; fighting her way to the edge of the Yard, at M Street.

The guard post there was unmanned; and damaged. Balere felt a lump in her throat. A sigh of relief came a moment later when she saw a pair of Marines inspecting a wall not far away, and paying no attention to her. "Excuse me!" she called to them, and they came over. She held out her badge. "Special Agent Balere LeBeouf, NCIS. Do you have a working radio, or—or _some_ means of communication? Satellite phone?"

"Afraid not, ma'am. Wish we did," said one of the jar-heads.

"NCIS is badly damaged. We need ambulances."

"Wish I knew what to tell you, ma'am."

"I'll have to find help myself, then," she said, and started down the street.

There was no traffic. It was as if Washington had come to a standstill.

- - - - -

Kale McGee was back working the phones. His computer radar graphics had told him that the vortex that had slammed Washington had vanished; probably having drawn itself up into the clouds when confronted with the Anacostia River. It could drop down again somewhere. But maybe it wouldn't.

ZNN had dropped coverage of everything but the Washington disaster. Of course thousands of reporters were naturally in the area, but they were hampered in trying to get to the scene of much of anything, so much of the reporting so far was speculation. The President had been at Camp David when the storm hit; he had yet to make a statement.

_I'm being ridiculous,_ Kale told himself. _This is a weather event of less than half an hour ago, and I'm expecting news coverage??_

But like any parent, he was worried deeply about his child. As he dialed one phone number after another, only to get the "all circuits are busy" recording (and sometimes not even that), he frantically tried to think of other ways of getting information. _I have 30 years' accumulation of contacts.._ Again on the phones.

"_All circuits are busy…"_

DC was a no-go. Got to get further out. Alexandria?

"_All circuits are busy…"_

Silver Spring? There was a research outpost there…

"_All circuits are busy…"_

As if reading his mind, ZNN said then, "Telephone communication in the metro DC area is severely hampered by the crisis. Lines are believed to be down or overwhelmed. People are asked to please restrict calls to the area to emergency only."

Annapolis. Switching hats, he had former Navy buddies there, at the Naval Academy. Was that far enough out?

At first there was no sound on the other end, then came a few clicks, and then_, "Commander Waring."_

"Jon! Kale McGee. Sorry to bother you, but I need a favor."

The voice on the other end sounded strained. _"If I can, Kale. You've probably heard that we've had storms here; big ones in the District. We had a dozen plebes down touring the _Barry_ in the Navy Yard, and we've lost touch with them."_

"My son was at work at NCIS there, and when I reached him by phone, he said the roof was coming off, and then the line went dead."

"_Oh, God; Kale. I don't know what to say…I'll pray for him,.."_

Kale swallowed. "Is there anything you can think of, Jon, that I can do to get help in there? They're going to need rescue vehicles…"

"_No one really knows what's going on in there; that's the problem. The power is out in nearly the entire District and into parts of Virginia and Maryland. Phone lines are—well, you probably know that by now. The local TV stations are off the air. Everyone who can is getting their news from Baltimore, but there's not much of that yet. It's expected that the Army National Guard will be called in to help soon, but you know how much time it takes to send those things through channels."_

"But if someone with choppers wanted to take the initiative…" said Kale as an idea came to him.

"_Like we do, at our Naval Air Facility! I'll tell the Commandant about it right now; I know he'll go for it!"_

"Good old Blood-and-Thunder Buehler," Kale grinned.

"_Speaking of thunder, Kale, what kind of weather would we be sending our choppers into? That's the only sticking point."_

Kale called up the latest charts on his screen. He wouldn't lie to his friend. Fortunately, the news was good. "Right now, winds of under 20 knots; light rain. Within 30-60 minutes, even the light rains should be offshore, although you'll still have clouds."

"_We can deal with that. Thank you, Kale!"_

"Thanks, Jon." Now all he could do was wait…like any nervous parent.

Again he wished his wife was here with him, so they could hold each other…

- - - - -

Balere walked a block down M Street before giving up. Trees and power lines littered the road. It would be awhile before vehicles could get through. _People may die in the meantime…_ She swallowed that thought. Despair would be of no help.

The rain was lessening as she walked back into the Yard, unchallenged by the Marine guards. With the mist lifting, she could now see across the river, see the…

…the _lights,_ not a full complement of them, but some…

…the _lights on at the Anacostia naval station and Bolling AFB!_

If she could only get word to them; enlist their help…

_If I need to, I'll walk down to the I-295 bridge and across the river to the base._

But first, she needed to see if there was a quicker way of getting their attention.

It took time to get down to the river. There was just so much debris in the way. She considered stopping in at NCIS on the way, but doubted she could be of help. No; the Marines from the other side of the Yard could only do so much. Yes, they were bound to have a medic or two. And NCIS had Ducky. But some people would need hospital care.

And then she stopped, and then ran, as a helicopter bearing US Navy insignia roared overhead and dropped perfectly onto the helipad at the river's edge. Another one dropped onto a small clear space on the parking lot.

Balere was half aware of the Marines who likewise were running toward the two choppers. The door on the chopper on the helipad opened, and a female lieutenant hopped out, and grinned on seeing Balere in her NCIS jacket and cap. "Lt. Millie Naismith, ma'am. Tell us how we can be of help!"

"We have many wounded who need transport to hospitals," said Balere, and, swallowing again, said to the Marine in charge, "Where is the greatest need, Sergeant Stratton?"

"Your building, ma'am," said the sergeant, gravely. "There are other injuries around, but yours got the worst of it."

She nodded. "These men will show you. Can you—is there a way of getting help from the base at Anacostia?"

"I'll raise them on the radio," said the lieutenant. "Charlie, call Anacostia. Have them send boats. I don't think there's room here for more than one more chopper."

At last Balere let herself feel the weariness that had been building up. Help had arrived.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

- - - - -

"Oh my God," said Tony. He started to say aloud the names of the four dead people, but the words evaporated on his lips. Somehow, it wasn't respectful enough, maybe. Or maybe naming them made them all the more dead. Two of the dead were from Intel. A third was a records clerk. The fourth, a file technician. People you saw everyday; didn't interact with much, but who were always were there. Good folks. One had just returned to work from maternity leave.

"Rest their souls," said Jardine, softly.

"Keep looking around," Schultz directed. "First priority is the wounded."

"Uh…" said Jardine.

The others followed the direction of her stare. "Can I help you, sergeant?" Schultz asked the Marine in the front.

"We were hoping we could help _you_, ma'am," said Sgt. Stratton. "Are you the person in charge here?"

"I suppose I am. Special Agent Klara Schultz." Schultz wondered, for the first time, why they hadn't seen Gibbs or Vance. Their absence was troubling.

"Sgt. Ken Stratton. There are Navy air rescue squads just behind us, and more on the way."

"Thank heavens!"

"Now can I fall apart?" Tim said, and then looked embarrassed for having said it out loud. But no one even gave him a second look.

Schultz sent her team members, Mickey and Joe, to direct the Marines and the Navy to the wounded. She then pulled Tony and Tim aside. "You never _did_ go to counseling after the hurricane, did you?"

"How did you know about the hurricane?" Tim demanded.

She smirked. "There aren't many secrets among management. Seriously, though: are you going to be able to help in here, or do you need to get out?"

Tony glanced up. "I think we all should get out, really."

"Is that your assessment of the structural soundness, Tony?"

"Hell, no. I'm just scared to death of each moment we spend in here."

She bit off a sigh. The best thing would be to get them out of the building, then. In their state, they wouldn't be able to do more than follow explicit orders. "Go. Down the stairs. Take with you anyone who's fit enough to walk."

Tim turned to go, looking slightly gratified, but Tony held back. "Gibbs is going to ream us for this," he said.

"Leave him to me," said Schultz, firmly. "Go."

And so the two men did go, shooing out stunned coworkers as they went. Schultz watched them go for a moment. If they had been less mentally bruised, she would have sent them searching the rest of this floor for evacuees. Others would take care of that, now.

- - - - -

Ziva had gone searching for a working landline phone. Even if she doubted, somewhat, that she would find one, it was a way of keeping the fear in her mind shoved off to one side.

Nothing could be found on the second floor—other than people, cowering in offices, whom she sent to the exits and out the building. She climbed one of the back stairwells to the third floor, hoping that MTAC or the Director's office would have more stable telecommunications. MTAC was locked—of course; power was needed to generate the electronic switches.

The doors to Vance's office were open, though. Where was he? Was he even here? She couldn't remember if she'd seen him at all today. But in the gloom of his inner office, she found him, lying wounded, on the floor. In a flash she was out of the office, calling for help from the balcony. Why try to move a big man like Vance by herself, when with the aid of a couple of people, it could be done more gently?

It was Schultz who came to her, as she watched the medics load Vance onto a stretcher. Schultz, who took her into her arms before she even realized she needed the physical comfort. "I want you to go outside," Schultz said to her in a low tone. "I've sent McGee and DiNozzo out there. Your work here is done."

"But, I—I—"

"No buts. Go."

Ziva dried her eyes, and, nodding, trotted down the stairs, not looking at the carnage around her,

She found Tony and Tim just across the street, sitting on a park bench that had been turned around by the storm. They both looked grim, but Tim's face softened a little on seeing her.

"You were gone a long time," he said. "I was starting to think…"

The tears fell again, and she couldn't have said later whether Tim took her into his arms first, or if she just fell into them. Neither of them said anything, and Tony just looked on, understanding.

- - - - -

"Abbs, I think it's time to move on now."

"Okay, Gibbs. You lead." The dull, safety of the inner hallway had had its comforts…and the presence of Gibbs; Gibbs, her rock; had made her feel secure. Now, they were headed back to destruction…where she feared she would see things she didn't want to see. _Please, let everyone be okay,_ she prayed silently.

The thin light of cloudy day lit their way ahead. The first thing they encountered on their way out of the hallway was a body under a large piece of skylight frame. Abby ran to the side of the hallway and was sick there.

She felt Gibbs' hand on her shoulder. "How many, Gibbs? How many?" she sobbed.

"Too many, but it could have been a lot worse," said a new voice.

"Schultz!" Gibbs said, and for once, he was glad to see his usual adversary. "What's the sitrep?"

"Seven known dead in here, but we're still searching," Schultz replied. "Lots of wounded…I've lost count. The Marines and the Navy are here getting the wounded out—Ducky's one of the wounded, I'm afraid. Vance, too."

"Where's my team?" Gibbs strained to see in the gloom.

"Outside. They're okay—physically."

"Outside?! I'd expect them to be in here, helping!"

"And they were. Don't go apoplectic, Gibbs; purple is not a good color on you." Her tone darkened. "You come down on them right now, and you'll have to face me."

- - - - -

Jimmy worked under the guidance of the Navy medics, and helped carry out stretcher after stretcher. With the arrival of boats from the Anacostia base, there were soon plenty of people moving the injured and the dead out of the squad room. A Navy engineer urged everyone to work quickly and get out—she didn't like the looks of the ceiling remainders and the walls.

Marines swept the building thoroughly, floor by floor, and got everyone out. Their job done there, the Marines then went on to other Yard buildings.

Fallen trees were attacked with power saws; smaller ones were moved by hand. Real repair of the area, including, possibly, the power lines, could not begin until the roads were clear. And still the helicopters and boats came and went, taking away the wounded and the dead.

Two uniformed police officers appeared, climbing gingerly around obstacles, as Balere had done. One whistled. "And I thought the area north of M Street was bad! What can we do to help you folks?"

"Get power back. Get trees removed. Get tow trucks to remove the cars that are turned over," said Schultz bitterly. "Our people may be stuck here for awhile, if this is as widespread as I'm thinking. Food, water, and blankets would be a godsend."

The officers nodded, and departed. "Reporters," Schultz then mumbled to Gibbs.

"The gate guards will keep them out," he said.

"Not what I mean. Someone's got to make a statement. Vance is out."

"You're better behaved than I am. You do it."

She sighed, and wished for a comb and a mirror. Men never had these thoughts. She went off to alert the Marines to find her when the press showed up.

- - - - -

Gibbs found Ziva, Tim and Tony, huddled quietly on their bench. Schultz' admonition was still in his mind, yet he couldn't help feeling some anger. "What happened in there?" he asked, and they knew he wasn't referring to the approach of the storm.

"We should have gone to the counseling," Tony declared.

"Yes, you should have."

"I—I'm sorry, boss," said Tim, before remembering that Gibbs didn't like apologies.

"You might as well give us your worst, Gibbs," said Ziva. "You cannot make us feel any worse than we already do."

"Then what would be the point?" asked Gibbs. "I don't like it when you make mistakes, but you're all only human, and you will make mistakes. I make mistakes, too. I should have insisted on you three getting counseling."

"I want to go now," Tim said meekly.

Gibbs gave him a look, which half-hid a smirk. "Oh, you'll go. No doubt about that now."

"What happens now, boss?" asked Tony. "Do we go home? We can't work in there…"

"Hang tight. I'll have to talk with the Marines; see if we can all bunk down somewhere like the auditorium in building 22, if it's sound. I doubt the District wants extra people on the roads or on the Metro—if it's even running—right now."

"It'll take a long time to repair our building," said Tim, sadly.

"It may have to be demolished," observed Ziva.

"They've _got_ to fix it!" Tony insisted. "I'm too used to those crazy orange walls!" For the first time, they laughed a little.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

- - - - -

Building #22 in the Yard had sustained no apparent damage, other than, perhaps, a few shingles blown off the roof. It was a multi-purpose building, housing everything from a bank and food court to small offices, large meeting rooms and even rooms that could be used as ballrooms. It was those latter spaces that were deemed most suitable for the NCIS refugees.

Gibbs stood at the building's entryway, looking around the space as the NCIS workers filed in. Every third or fourth person carried a flashlight. It would be a long night. Schultz was still being the public face of NCIS outside; in here, Gibbs would sleep while he could, knowing that as the most senior agent, he could be woken at any time. _They don't tell you about natural disasters at FLETC…_

It was going on 8 p.m. People had had an uncomfortable couple of hours standing outside in the warm, humid air while their higher-ups decided what was to be done. The clouds had softened, but not cleared; rain came through now and then, sometimes with a little thunder and lightning. Schultz's team member Joe Wicker said this was typical of tornado-cell weather. Gibbs had glanced at Tim when Joe had said this, but Tim had no reaction. Like Ziva and Tony, now that the danger was over, he appeared to have allowed himself to be shell-shocked. Gibbs worried.

"I just find it amazing, Gibbs," said another of Schultz' people, Balere LeBeouf, stopping beside him. "I don't know how the Navy knew to come here when they did. With no communications from us, those helicopters just…showed up. Like a wish come true."

"I don't believe in wishes," Gibbs growled.

"Well, what's the explanation? I'd like to know."

He only shook his head. She smiled wryly and went on into the building with the others.

Lt. Naismith stopped to make one final check that there was no one else desiring hospital treatment. They'd made several flights already, but would not quit while anyone needed help. _Good, strong people we have in the Navy and the Marines,_ Gibbs thought. Then, on an impulse, he called out to her.

"Who called you folks in?" he asked her. "How did you know that the Yard had been hit?"

"Oddest thing," she answered. "The commandant sent us. Apparently someone in NOAA's Weather Service division tracked the cell very thoroughly from far away and surmised that the Yard had taken a direct hit. They called the Academy. I wouldn't have thought that much connecting-the-dots was possible, but I don't know anything more about the weather than what I see on TV."

"That _is_ strange," Gibbs agreed.

- - - - -

A captain from the Anacostia base came in soon afterwards. "Agent Gibbs? Got a call on the sat phone patched through from Annapolis. Do you have a Timothy McGee here?"

"I'll get him." Gibbs returned shortly with a drowsy Tim, who took the phone without question.

"Hello?"

"_Tim! You don't know how good it is to hear your voice!"_ Indeed, the voice at the end crackled a little with emotion.

"Dad!"

"_Are you okay, son? The last I knew, you were saying that the tornado was taking the roof off your building!"_

"It was, but I'm fine." Tim started to cry, and held the phone at arm's length for a moment. "Talk to Gibbs," he said into the phone then.

"Mr. McGee? He's fine. A little shaken up, but that's all. He was lucky."

"_By which you mean some people weren't. I'm sorry to hear that, Gibbs."_

Gears clicked in Gibbs' mind. "Did you summon the Navy to help us? All communications here were down…"

"_I just called in a favor or two."_

Gibbs took a deep breath. "You probably saved several lives. If we'd had to wait until conventional rescue had come to us…"

"_Just doing my part as an old Navy man and a concerned father,"_ Kale laughed. _"Let me talk to my boy again and then I'll let you all get back to what you were doing."_

Handing the phone back to Tim, Gibbs let his agent walk away with it for a little privacy. Gibbs smiled. Yes, the team would definitely need therapy, but a little parental love would also help the healing.

- - - - -

At 2:30 a.m., the power came back on.

The sudden presence of low-level evening lights woke up some people, and stirred some others. While a few people stood up, talking quietly with other risers, one person found the wall switches and put the room back into darkness. But not everyone went back to sleep. A few—including Gibbs' team and Schultz' team—left the room in search of a TV and news.

One was found in a nearby administrative office. Ten people crowded in to listen to ZNN.

The coverage was of nothing but the DC tornado ("Disaster in the District", ZNN coyly named it). The facts were stunning: Having touched down just this side of the Nationals ballpark, the tornado had hopped along the M Street area before detouring into the Yard. It hadn't touched down for the entire journey. Twenty houses had been damaged or destroyed; five people killed in that area.

In the Yard the death toll was put at a staggering 21, including 11 at NCIS, two tourists washed off the _Barry, _and a few Marines and other civilian workers in other parts of the Yard. Taped footage of interviews with Schultz, hair askew, at the wreckage of the Isaac Hull gate on M Street and 6th played over and over. She looked weary in them, and stressed, but she was frank and did the agency proud.

Power had been out in the District and environs for hours. It didn't take a tornado to do all that; the accompanying thunderstorms did their part. The electric company was restoring power as quickly as it could, following the city workers who were clearing fallen trees from the streets.

No solid guesses yet as to the force of the tornado. (One newscaster looked even a little surprised to hear that tornados weren't all of the same wind speed.) That would take a daylight assessment of the damage. The initial guess was that it was a class F-3 on the Fujita scale (158-206 miles per hour winds). At least.

After watching TV for about half an hour, with no new news, the groups went back to sleep. It was comforting, a bit, to have some knowledge of the situation.

- - - - -

What would the new day bring?

Gibbs and Schultz roused everyone at 8 a.m. "The roads are passable again; the Metro is running again; go home," Gibbs directed. "Be with your families. Take the day to relax. It's sunny and warm. You've been through a lot. Report to work in building #200 tomorrow. We'll see where to put you then."

"Are they going to fix our building, boss?" Tony asked.

"Beats me, DiNozzo. You'll know when I do."

"What about Ducky, and the Director? Do you know their conditions?" asked Ziva.

"They're doing well in the hospital. So are all the others we've sent there."

Tim sat down heavily. "Boss, I—I don't know if I can continue working. Yesterday, I—just froze. I was worse than useless. Schultz' team really showed me up."

"_Us_ up," Tony corrected.

"Yes, they did," Gibbs agreed. "Which is why they'll temporarily be the Major Case Response Team—" he raised a hand to still their complaints. "—until you've all had enough counseling to be fit to return to the field."

"What will you be doing in the meantime, Gibbs?" Ziva's eyes were moist at the acknowledgment of her failure.

He sighed. "Riding the big desk in the Director's office. Please pray for a speedy recovery for him."

His agents turned to go, but Gibbs called them back. "Hey!" he barked. "No matter what you think of yourselves, no matter what you see in the mirror today, I see three good people who made a mistake last month, and would have done their best yesterday, if only they could."

"Thanks, boss." "Thanks." "Thank you, Gibbs."

One does not recover from a disaster quickly, but as the agents stepped out into the sunshine, they felt that, with help this time, they could do so.

-END-


End file.
